


Sealed No Longer

by Resoan



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition AU [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, WILL Contain Spoilers, post Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set After Inquisition. Fen'Harel has managed to free the gods from their prison, and the Inquisitor and her forces have caught up to him. Relations are tense between them all, but an old friend returns to offer guidance and assistance. The Inquisitor then has a reunion of her own with Solas now that she knows his true identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sealed No Longer

It was so  _bright_ . Dirthamen was the last to stumble out of the eluvian, right behind Sylaise, and he scarcely even recognized Fen'Harel on the other side: his expression both alarmed and relieved. The Dread Wolf was not alone, however; an entire multitude of people stood with him, armed and armored to the teeth, though Dirthamen could not fault Fen'Harel for such a thing: Elgar'nan was not known for being beneficent after all, and being locked away behind an eluvian for years beyond counting had made him very angry and spiteful.

“What is _that_?” Andruil was pointedly looking at Iron Bull, and her voice had even managed to garner Elgar'nan's attention away from Fen'Harel who seemed rather grateful for the distraction. “It's like a dragon and a durgen'len had a baby.” Dirthamen could see the irritation flit across the being's face, even as he was clearly accustomed to hiding such reactions.

“There is much we have missed, it seems,” Dirthamen murmured, hands folding in front of his waist.

“You don't know the half of it!” The voice came from behind the line of elven gods, and Dirthamen turned as well as another shemlen swaggered forward, a swipe of blood arcing across the bridge of her nose. “Ah, but it's been such a very long time. I doubt you will even recognize me.” The shemlen stepped between a dumbfounded Andruil and an openly-glaring Elgar'nan, black bangs plastered against pale skin, and Velahari could hear Varric gasp disbelievingly from her side.

“Hawke?” Varric's voice was broken; he'd tried to put her death behind him after what had happened at Adamant, and he thought he'd done a fair job of it until now. Hawke's eyes were different now, though; instead of the bright, vibrant blue, they were an eerie yellow – not unlike Morrigan's, truly.

“Yes and no. Give me just a moment with my kin, and she will return to you.” The smile was enigmatic at best, and she turned just in time for Elgar'nan to come closer, dark eyes glaring down imperiously into her smiling face – the same japing smile Velahari had seen before Hawke cracked several jokes back at Skyhold on the battlements. “Calm yourself, Elgar'nan. Always so angry, always with wrinkles on your brow. It makes you appear older than you are.” Hawke's fingertips smoothed across the god's brow, and while Velahari half-expected the All-Father to strike her away, her touch seemed to bestow the knowledge of her true identity upon him. Anger drained from his face, eyes blinking disbelievingly, and Velahari could have sworn she'd even seen the fierce god nuzzle just slightly into the touch – a touch he'd been bereft of for millenia, a touch that calmed him as though a mistress to a crazed animal, and it was then Velahari truly understood how things had fallen apart for the ancient elves after Mythal had fallen to treachery.

“Ah. So you do remember,” Mythal murmured, Elgar'nan's jaw setting as his eyes narrowed down at Hawke's face.

“There was little else to do _but_ remember while locked away in an eluvian,” he informed her. “That, and plot my vengeance which will _not_ be forgotten.” The ferocity in his tone could have been a growl for how guttural it sounded, though Hawke frowned at his words.

“The time for your vengeance will wait,” Mythal informed him tartly, lips pursing as her fingers curled around the god's jaw and pulled his face closer. “There is still a reckoning to be had: to cast down those who cast _me_ down so many years ago. Do not tell me you have forgotten in your haste. Fen'Harel's assistance will be crucial.” Elgar'nan chafed under Mythal's words visibly, lips baring his teeth in a snarl.

 

* * *

 

The groups split not long thereafter: the newly-freed gods trailing after Mythal as she explained all that had gone on in their absence, while the Inquisitor was content to remain; so much had happened in such a short period of time, and she was still reeling from it all. The elven gods not only existed, but were now back in the mortal realm; Mythal had apparently found Hawke in the Fade and fused with her, and Solas...well, he wasn't really Solas, was he? The look on Enera's face when he was named by the others told Velahari the other elf had already known – and a similar expression was on Abelas's face as well, though Fena'dea had given him a suspicious look and Velahari had not worried anymore.

Fen'Harel. The trickster, the Dread Wolf, the god who sealed all the others away. It was not an easy pill to swallow, and the pain of his abrupt departure from the Inquisition mingled with her disbelief, with anger and fury, and with a keen understanding that he lingered on the fringes of where the gods had paused, likely not feeling welcome there – but neither was he wholeheartedly welcome among her companions either.

_I am a fool_ . Had she willfully blinded herself in the poor assumption she might find happiness, even in the midst of so much upheaval? A hand clenched into a fist at her side, and her eyes squeezed shut tightly, angry tears moistening the corners of her eyes. Despite everything, her heart still ached with the knowledge that he was only a few yards away; stubbornness kept her firmly in place, and the very real uncertainty as to what she might do if she did force a reunion between them. Would she break down and cry at his feet, an emotional child who had yet to learn her lesson? Would she reel back in anger and backhand him clean across the face, unable to keep herself in check despite the satisfaction such an action might bring? Or would she wrap her arms around him, begging him not to leave her again and hoping beyond hope he might return the embrace?

“You okay?” It was Varric who posed her this question, and him, at least, she was happy to see. “You haven't really had much of a chance to come up for air since the Breach, and now...this. I don't even know what to make of this shit. Elven gods. _Really_? You just know it isn't going to end well, whatever happens.”

“Whatever happens, we'll be ready,” Velahari murmured, arms folding around her legs as she turned to glance at Varric who didn't look as assured as she did.

“Yeah but...these gods are actually immortal. Why would Chuckles lock them away behind a mirror for so long if he could have just killed them off instead?” Varric realized only after he posed his question that it was the wrong thing to say; Velahari's expression froze, green eyes acidic, though he knew they weren't intended for him. “Sorry.” The dwarf gave her a sympathetic expression, and though it seemed he wanted to add more to it, he didn't speak again. Truth be told, Velahari was glad for the silence, and for the company; most of her companions were doing their best, either to pretend something potentially-catastrophic and life-altering hadn't just occurred, or to swallow the information and process it before coming to conclusions – conclusions that would likely result in giving their Inquisitor a piece of their minds.

“At least Hawke's all right,” Velahari found herself whispering, eyes turning to Varric only after glancing away from the human a fair distance away. “I...don't think I could ever apologize enough for what happened in the Fade, Varric, but-”

“It's...let's just leave it where it is, Inquisitor,” Varric replied quietly, amber gaze turning down towards his feet. “Hawke's alive, and that's more than I could have ever asked for. You don't need to feel guilty anymore.” _Perhaps not_ , _but I do_. It had not been a choice made lightly, especially not when she knew how much it would destroy Varric; the expression on his face and the broken tone of his voice still haunted her during particularly bad nightmares. “Maker's breath, stop looking at me like that,” Varric teased, and Velahari blinked over at him, lips parting briefly; “Anyway. I've eaten up enough of your time. Maybe some rest would do you good? Today's been...well. Crazy seems to be par for the course for you anymore.” His jape earned a smile from her, and he offered a soft one of his own before standing and slipping away, eventually ending up somewhere between Cassandra and Blackwall.

Varric had a point, but Velahari never imagined sleeping in a place like the Crossroads; it was...hard to put into words, truly. She could sense the magics holding it together, could feel it tugging against her skin: it was the proximity to the Fade, certainly, though it only made her more nervous; the skin across her left palm rippled familiarly, and she clenched the hand a little more tightly. Resting in such a place added to her anxiety as well; being so close to the Fade guaranteed dreams she would remember upon waking, perhaps even lucid ones, and she couldn't very well help it as her eyes cut across to where the gods had settled for the time being. Velahari hadn't been afforded the luxury of hesitation during the majority of events that had transpired during the Inquisition, but now she was waffling, and she wished she had Cassandra's resolve to do what needed to be done. Perhaps therein was the problem: she didn't  _know_ what needed to be done. Not concerning the newly-freed gods, nor Mythal currently inhabiting Hawke's body, and least of all, concerning Fen'Harel, and the pseudo-relationship they'd apparently had before he'd disappeared.

 

* * *

 

Even before the Inquisition, Velahari had learned to enjoy her time spent in the Fade; the Keeper's warnings of demons did not go unheeded, but there was so much more to the realm than its inhabitants. Being overly wary and cautious had drawn attention to her: spirits and demons who clung to such thoughts and feelings – and there had always been so many, given how the Circles taught mages to fear such creatures. Instead, she'd learned to observe: to watch the dealings of spirits in secret even as they likely knew of her presence; interaction did not come until...well, until another had proposed the possibility. The brief glimmer of pain flitting across her drew the attention of nearby spirits, though it was a feeling she easily smothered; the very last thing she needed was for a spirit to assume his form, to whisper the words she'd always wished he'd said to her. Velahari wasn't certain she would be able to endure such a temptation; even then, part of her wondered if she would have even wanted to do so.

The area around her altered then: shifting and pulsing in a telling way, and Velahari cursed the way it made her heart jump even then – even after everything he'd put her through, all the lies and deceit, the forsaken promises and distance he'd imposed. “I'd hoped you'd leave well enough alone.”  _Why are you here? Haven't you hurt me enough?_ Whatever bitterness she hoped might have carried into her tone dissipated swiftly, leaving her to sound markedly weary and full of sorrow.

“If you wish for me to leave, you have merely to say so, and I will leave.” _I know. I don't deserve a chance, but is it wrong that I hope you will allow me one nonetheless?_

She could just make out his silhouette from the corner of her eye, and though she longed to yell, to tell him to leave so he could cause no more damage, it was a sigh that billowed from her lips moments later. “Why are you here?” she asked after a moment, turning to look at him for the first time since the battle with Corypheus. “To explain? To apologize? Or to beg on hands and knees for my forgiveness?”

His gaze was thoughtful, piercing, and even with the less-dignified suggestion, it did not waver; “Is that something you truly desire?” In truth, it had only been a biting remark, hyperbolic and purposefully over-the-top; that he actually considered doing so if she wished it of him spoke volumes, but it was not humiliation she wished upon him.

“No.” But then, she didn't even know _what_ she wanted; there had been ample time to consider how she might react in the given situation: whether she would be infuriated or heartbroken or relieved, but nothing quite compared to the feeling welling up within her chest and steadily spreading as time passed. “I want things the way they were: before Mythal and the Arbor Wilds, before everything stopped making sense.” It was a futile wish, certainly, but the keenness of her desire was a knife to her heart.

“We cannot go back,” he whispered, apologetic and impossibly sorrowful.

“Says the _god_ who has focused all his energy on bringing back the past,” Velahari replied sharply, eyes narrowing across the distance between them as he flinched in tacit reply. A tense silence followed, one of the Inquisitor's hands clenching into a tight fist, though she made no move: not closer to him, nor against him in hostility. And for the most part, he was patient, was allowing her to sift through her thoughts and feelings even as they dragged out their reunion. “Did you think to hide your true identity from me forever?” That revelation had not hurt so much as the knowledge that he hadn't trusted her enough to divulge it.

“Would you have believed me even if I had?” It was a weak excuse, and he seemed to know it from the shame on his face.

“Maybe not in the beginning, but after Haven? After Mythal's temple?” The white-hot anger she'd been clinging to began to lessen, and her frown trembled, eyes glassy even if she refused to let the tears fall – this moment was difficult enough without adding to it. “I tried staying angry, even tried hating you and everything you'd done to me. But I couldn't. All I could do was worry, wonder where you'd gone, what I'd _done_ to drive you away, if you were all right.” She was shaking her head then, blissfully ignorant to the pained longing on his face; “I am such a fool.”

His steps at first were tentative, cautious, just in case she bolted when she noticed, though a hand was covering her eyes – not to hide her expression or her tears, but from what seemed to be exasperation; “It is not enough, I know, but for what it is worth, I am sorry.” Her hand returned to her side then, eyes peering unflinchingly into his.

“I know.” It was whispered, murmured in a breath that even Velahari herself scarcely heard; even as her anger had festered, she'd always known: he'd never meant to cause her pain, to make her question and doubt. As such, she could never hold onto her anger; even now, her fingers twitched at her sides, and only doubt of what remained of their relationship kept her from initiating contact.

Countless questions echoed in her mind, questions concerning the future and what would come next both for the world and for them in particular, but she did not ask them; part of her didn't want the answers he would likely give, and perhaps another part simply wanted to enjoy this moment, despite the strained qualities leading up to it.

There was more to say, but Velahari didn't mind when the conversation devolved into silence, transitioned into meaningful looks until his hands sought her out and she let out a breathe she'd been holding; the Fade was tricky, but she would recognize his touch:  _always_ . It was light at first, as though he half-expected her to dissolve after being touched, though with time, his actions grew bolder. He drew her close, his hands remaining in the middle of her back for only a short time before one smoothed up over her shoulders and cradled the back of her head, while the other slid down towards her hips. A choked sound made its way past his lips, followed closely by shuddering breaths, and grey eyes closed when he felt her arms circle his waist, her breath warm on the side of his neck. “I missed you,” she murmured at the base of his ear, and he allowed the side of his head to press gently against hers.

“The moments without you were agony, _vhenan_. Even more so when I believed you were angry with me – even if your anger was wholly justified.” _Don't let me go_. He would never say so aloud, but such a plea was woven into his touches: in the press of his hands, the fleeting emotions in his eyes, in how tightly he held on to her as though he might never let go again. She was the one to pull back first, though he only allowed her to do so reluctantly, and even then, the urge to draw her back was a fierce one. One of her hands had somehow made it to his jaw, and while he knew what she intended, he smiled sadly at her before shaking his head. “Not here,” he told her gently, one of his own hands guiding hers until he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Find me once you awaken, and we will have a proper reunion.” The pout on her lips drew his attention far more than he was willing to admit, though he was similarly pleased when she did disappear from their place in the Fade: he had not anticipated waking from a dream since the very first time he'd led her there.

 

* * *

 

Awareness came slowly, sluggishly, though Velahari pushed herself to consciousness: was too excited to do anything less. No one was close enough to notice that the Inquisitor had just woken, though in this instance, such was a boon: she had no real desire to explain where she was wandering even if the Crossroads was free of demons and other adversaries. Hawke and Varric were busy regaling the rest of Velahari's companions with tales of their adventures in Kirkwall, and those who weren't busy listening were asleep on others' shoulders.

Hawke was the only one to catch Velahari's gaze as the elf slipped away, and even then, the human smiled a knowing smile before returning to her captive audience. The elf only managed to give Hawke a grateful smile before she turned around a rather large statue – of a wolf, of course – and though she rolled her eyes, she pressed forward: away from the gathering of eluvians and the sound of conversation as her own party and the elven gods spoke amongst themselves.

_I didn't know you were going to make it this difficult_ , Velahari groused with a pointed frown, eyes narrowing as she took a few more steps; the Crossroads was strangely quiet and cold, and not for the first time, it made her feel very aware that it had been constructed, and not merely a  _place_ the elves had settled like the wild reaches of Thedas. She paused after a while, the only landmarks dotting the area the strange, leafless trees she'd seen in several elven shrines in her journeys, though no sign of-

He seemed to glide right out of the shadows, and though the initial contact knocked the air from her lungs in surprise and a little fear, she turned to face him, only to see a grin there she hadn't seen...well,  _ever_ . It was mischievous, it was amused, but it also sent a shudder down her spine that was hardly unpleasant. “I didn't realize when you said to  _find_ you, that you meant it literally,” she chided him gently, though he chuckled before pulling her closer, their foreheads sliding together gently.

“Is it any consolation that you will never need to again?” he asked, his grip around her waist tightening. Before she thought to respond, though, _he'd_ initiated their kiss; the contact drowned out any thought whatsoever, and one of her hands cupped the back of his neck, fingers pressing lightly into the skin as though it might pull him even closer. There was something different about it from its predecessors, though; it was more forceful, domineering, but not without its passion or emotion, and Velahari was not content to let him lead – not the entire time, anyway.

A sound from deep in the back of his throat reverberated against her lips, and she couldn't quite stifle the gasp of her own that followed; he smirked as the kiss ended, too out of breath to tease her though she knew it would be coming shortly. “Dread Wolf indeed,” she whispered, breathless, even as he stiffened just slightly in her hold, wholly unaccustomed to hearing such a moniker from her lips. “Don't think I didn't hear that  _growl_ .” Velahari nipped sharply at his lips then, and was pleased to hear another growl form deep in his chest, even as he tried to keep it contained behind his grit teeth. “It seems you can't quite hide every aspect of your nature,” she mused, fingers dragging lightly against the fold of skin behind his ear and against his skull.

“Not that you need to anymore.” She looked up in time to see normally-grey eyes curiously stormy, and the kiss that followed devoured her: heart and soul; any question of forgiveness was gone in the wake of feverish touches, and where before he'd always been hesitant and self-controlled, she could feel it slipping away from his grasp as he came to realize that he had no reason for such things anymore.

 


End file.
